No Ultimatums On You
by loosedefense
Summary: Seventeen year old superstar Troy Bolton returns home to spend his senior year in East High and must get readjusted to life in Albuquerque again balancing his old friends and new status. [Troyella, Tryan]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I know I have a ton of stories to update and probably shouldn't be adding more to my plate, but this idea has been buzzing around my head for a while. I watched most of _High School Musical 2_ to get myself more familiarized with the series because I figured it would only make sense since I'm writing a story in the fandom. I didn't see the whole thing as I could only handle so much in just one sitting, but I think I've done enough to familiarize myself a bit more with the whole environment. This story will be slash, but it starts off het for a good portion of the time.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the franchise and make no money off writing this story. It is purely for enjoyment.

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The headline of the newspaper delivered that morning read _TROY BOLTON RETURNS TO ALBUQUERQUE TODAY!_

It was an event that the residents of New Mexico had been waiting for for several months now. Troy Bolton, the seventeen-year-old pop superstar had made quite a splash with his emergence into the public consciousness several years ago and was the pride and joy of his hometown, though it hadn't been home to him ever since he was thirteen years old and had left for the sunny shores of California to launch his career as a superstar. Now four years later he was finally coming home for whatever reasons unknown to the residents of his town. He had announced approximately two months ago that he intended to take a "small break" from his booming career, "just to relax for a bit", and word had somehow gotten out that he intended to spend that time with his family back home. The fact that his senior year had began some few weeks ago, and that he was still legally bound to receive a secondary education regardless of what career path he had chosen for himself meant that for the first time in his life, Troy Bolton would be taking the brave step to venture into the halls of East High.

He had arrived at the terminal in the early hours of 4 AM, hoping to avoid the crowd of people who would have undoubtedly been lying in wait for him, begging off his parents' wild ideas of throwing a massive celebration that included a few words from the mayor, claiming that he had to do some last-minute promotion and recording before returning anyway. They had been disappointed, but had refused the idea of Troy taking a cab all the way to the house; his father, Jack Bolton, insisted that he meet him at Double Eagle, where Troy was meant to arrive in a private jet.

Now it was seven in the morning and Troy was in the car with his father driving him to the high school he had never had the opportunity to attend. His dad was in high spirits, happy to have his son back after having been separated from him for so long, and was rattling off the things that he could do now that he was back to a normal school. Coach of the East High Wildcats, a team had once hoped his son would join before he had left to make his fortune, Jack had chosen to stay behind and maintain his post while his wife flitted back and forth between New Mexico and California so that they would still be able to pay the bills in the time before Troy had gained public attention and sizable paychecks. Now that he had his son back, he had assumed that Troy would try out for a spot on his prized team.

Troy simply nodded and kept quiet and his father updated him on life in Albuquerque in the years since he'd been absent. Some of his old friends such as Chad Danforth, Jason Cross and Zeke Baylor had made the team and had gone on to become star players. Others – well, they hadn't been so lucky, and Jack hadn't really kept up with them enough since he had cut them down after tryouts to know what was going on with them now. "But they're all real excited to see you," he promised his son as he drove. "Everyone's been talking about you, they can't wait to hang out again."

Troy forced a small grin on his face. He wanted to be excited for this, he really did, but he wasn't quite as chipper as his parents were about the idea of leaving his career behind to come home for a year. His career was still burning hot and growing, and the thought of leaving it behind right now left a sour taste in his mouth. Really, who knew what could happen if he wasn't there to constantly tend to it? By the time he returned to LA, there might not be a career to return to.

Not only that, but the prospect of rejoining all his old friends in a normal school environment again left a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. His dad may not have found anything wrong with it, but when had parents ever comprehended the significance of high school? East High had been a source of awe and fear for him four years ago when he was a thirteen year old kid in middle school and it was, if possible, even more so now. He had lost touch with everyone there, and though he was sure they would want to be friends again – at least he hoped so – he couldn't pretend that it wasn't going to be awkward or that his fame wasn't going to get in the way. And if he knew anything about teenagers, he was well aware that pop music didn't have the best track record with them. No, Troy wasn't feeling very good about this at all.

Jack parked in his usual reserved space and cut the engine. "There's going to be an assembly," he informed. "Just this little thing, the principal wants to make sure you're comfortable, that's all."

'Oh yeah, I'm going to be real comfortable with everyone throwing me a parade,' Troy thought viciously. "Great," he said. It may have sounded odd that a big Hollywood star didn't want attention – that wasn't it, Troy's career was built on public interest after all – but the whispers and pointing from kids in a school he would be confined to for the next nine months was different from the usual media attention he received.

He shook his head to clear it of his thoughts and to wake himself up a little. None of the Boltons had slept the previous night; his parents had been too excited, and Jack was due at the airport to pick his son up anyway, and Troy had been doing some last minute performances and saying goodbye to his friends and handlers before boarding the plane. Afterwards, all three of them had sat around the kitchen just talking and waiting for the sun to rise.

The two Bolton men walked up the steps to the school and paused at the doors. Jack put an arm on Troy's shoulder and squeezed it, drawing a real smile from his son, however small it was. "You ready?"

Troy sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, then nodded. They pushed open the door and walked in.

The halls were packed with students milling about their lockers. Immediately, all talk ceased as students caught sight of who was in their presence. Jack led the way and after a moment, Troy followed, giving the kids around him a shy smile but not daring to look in their eyes. As he passed, a new buzz took place as curious eyes followed his path.

Jack led Troy to the principal's office first to get his locker assignment and class schedule for the semester. The secretary looked up as they walked in and beamed at them. "Hello, Jack. This must be Troy," she rose to her feet to shake his hand. "I've heard so much about you."

Troy blushed. "Oh, dad, you didn't talk about me to everyone did you?"

"No!" the secretary shushed him with a giggle. "I was just reading about you in _Us Weekly_!"

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Oh."

She clacked on the keys of her computer a bit, and in a moment printed out his schedule. Handing it to him with flourish, she bestowed another smile. "Welcome to East High."

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The assembly had already begun by the time Jack and Troy reached the auditorium. Jack pushed the heavy doors open and gazed down at the students shifting in their seats. All eyes turned to them when the bright light infiltrated the dim room. The principal was already onstage behind a podium. "Ah, here they are now."

Jack took Troy by the arm and ushered him down the steps to find a seat by the staff members who occupied the first two rows. Troy tried to ignore the burning of thousands of eyes on the back of his neck.

"As I was saying," the principal resumed, "we are all aware that a new student will be joining us today. A few weeks late, but excusable – I'm sure Mister Bolton had quite a few matters to attend to…" he chuckled, giving Troy an indulgent look. Troy sank in his seat. "I trust you will all do your best to make Mister Bolton feel welcome, and treat him no different than you would any of your other friends! He is, as all of you, another son of our wonderful state, and we are all very glad to have him back in our midst..." For ten minutes the man droned on about the importance of accepting people of all kinds and the welcoming nature of East High School. Troy knew because he spent each one of those ten minutes checking his watch as discreetly as possible, growing redder and redder with every word.

Finally, he held up his hands and said, "I shan't keep you from your studies any longer. Teachers, please gather your students and lead them back to their respective classes." The staff members, who had been sneaking glances at Troy when they thought he wasn't looking – he caught every one – got to their feet and made their way to the door. Troy started to follow them but was held back when the principal exclaimed, "Mister Bolton, a moment please!"

Troy held back, bidding his father goodbye, and waited for the principal to descend from the stage and reach him. "Why don't we go to my office, I think we would be much more comfortable there."

Troy nodded and followed the short man outside after the auditorium had been vacated. They passed the secretary again, who gave Troy a girlish wave, which Troy returned by simply raising his palm in her direction, and entered the principal's office. It was small, and decorated with a framed diploma and several memorabilia celebrating the school, including a banner that hung opposite him. Troy took a seat, and the principal gazed at him with his hands clasped together.

"Well, Mister Bolton, I thought we would never have the pleasure of meeting," he started. "Of course I'd heard of you before, with your father being a member of our institution – an esteemed member, and certainly a credit to us all; I was sorry to hear you'd left to make your mark, shall I say, before we'd had a chance to meet face-to-face."

"Yeah," Troy managed. "I just wanted to go my own way, you know."

"Of course, of course," the other man nodded. "You've certainly accomplished what you set out to do, quite a name you've made for yourself all over the country, and the world! But perhaps some time to come back down to Earth, hmm?"

"Yeah," Troy pasted a grin on his face, which fell off fairly quickly.

"Well, we are glad to have you, Mister Bolton. I hope you will have yourself an enjoyable and prosperous year here. We have many clubs – but I'm sure your father has told you all about them?"

"Yeah, he's been telling me all about this place since I got back," Troy nodded. The principal beamed.

"Well, I won't keep you much longer. It's just that I like to have a personal word with all the students, encourage a close relationship with them. If you ever feel that you need to talk, my door is always open, Mister Bolton."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ah, so polite," the principal waved off. "May I have a look at your schedule? Just so that I may direct you where you need to go – it won't do to have you wandering about for the next hour, eh? Ah, homeroom with Miss Darbus, oh, you'll like her. That's in room 201 – simply turn left by the trophy case, and the first room to your right." He handed Troy back his schedule. "I shall have one of our students serve as a guide to get you better acquainted, I know how confusing a new place can be. Well, off you go, Mister Bolton! Left by the trophy case!"

"Thank you, sir," Troy muttered again and got up.

The class wasn't hard to find; Troy spent a little time inspecting the trophies displayed in the case. He had once hoped to make the basketball team, his father had certainly encouraged him to do so when he was younger, and wanted to see how they had fared. Names of students past gazed out at him as his eyes drifted through each one, including – his heart fluttered a bit – an MVP trophy addressed to Chad.

He finally reached the room, and tried to take a peek through the glass, but was unable to see the figures inside as it was frosted, so he knocked on the door and turned the knob. "Hi – Miss Darbus?"

"Ah, Troy Bolton!" squeaked a statuesque woman draped in shawls, rushing over to where he stood halfway in and out the door. "What a pleasure. I am Miss _Darrrrrrrrbus_," she said, rolling her tongue.

"Miss Darbus—"

"Darbus, dear! _Darrrrrrrrbus_."

Troy nodded slowly, gazing at the strange woman. "Right. I've been assigned…" he faced his schedule towards her, and she promptly snatched it away, holding it high in the air and adjusting her glasses to gaze at it. "Ah, of course! Come in dear, come in!"

Troy cautiously stepped in, fighting the urge to wring his hands together. "Class—" he stared at the group of students who were leaning forward in their seats staring back, "we have a new student today. I'm sure most of you are familiar with Mister Bolton – go ahead, Mister Bolton, introduce yourself."

Troy stole a quick glance at her then turned his attention back to the eager students. "Hi," he raised his hand. "Um … I'm Troy. I used to live in Albuquerque, and uh, I moved away for a while, I guess, and I'm back for a while and really glad to be here—"

"But why, dear?"

Troy turned back to Ms. Darbus in surprise. "Excuse me?" She waved her hand in the air as if trying to catch the meaning of her unexpected question.

"Why are you back? I don't believe I quite ever caught the reason."

"Oh." Now Troy _was_ wringing his hands. "Well, my dad thought it'd be a good idea, I guess. I think he thought it would be best to finish off high school here than with a tutor, get some normalcy?" He shrugged lamely.

Darbus seemed less than thrilled with this response. "I see. Well, there's a seat available right over there dear, by Mister Evans." Troy nodded gratefully and maneuvered his way around and gracefully fit himself into the tiny chair-desk combo. He sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage without sounding too loud because the class was still deathly quiet and all eyes were fixated on him. He bowed his head, taking in the pattern of the wood carving, waiting for someone to break the silence.

He really, truly hated this idea.

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That's it for Chapter 1. Please review, I would love to know what you all think. I'm really excited about this idea and would love to get as much feedback for it as I can. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

When the lunch bell rang, Troy stayed firmly in his seat, offering weak smiles and blushing at the students from his Math class who filed away past his desk to reach the door, every one of them slowing down to ogle at him. Only after the last student left the classroom did he push his chair back and grabbed his bag. "Forty minutes, Troy," the teacher said to him in passing as he made to exit as well. Troy nodded in understanding and fell in line behind the man.

"Troy Bolton!" he swung his head in the direction of the strong voice. A petite young woman with golden hair strode over to him wearing a dazzling smile. She waved his fingers girlishly and got an extra bounce in her step as she approached him. "I'm Sharpay Evans. Miss Darbus assigned me the task of escorting you around until you find your way." She batted her eyes coyly at him, shifting her body to resemble some model-like poses.

"Oh!" Troy nodded in comprehension. "You're the tour guide?"

She giggled. "Escort."

"…Escort," he allowed. "I thought Principal Matsui was going to assign me one?"

"Darbus was given the task; the secretary met up with her right after homeroom, and she elected me. I am, after all, quite the exemplary student."

"You are?" Troy hadn't really imagined this girl to be the straight-A type.

"Oh yes; I rule this place," her voice now had a dangerous edge to it though she maintained a breezy tone. "I hope you don't mind being late for lunch?"

"No, I'm fine," Troy replied. "Go ahead."

She reached out and boldly gripped his hand in a vice-like grip. Troy was startled by how strong her bony arms were.

"…and here is the auditorium," Sharpay announced over thirty minutes later, at the top level of the school. Miss Darbus is our drama teacher so you'll be seeing quite a bit of her, multiple times for almost every day in all. Now, I know it would have made better sense to work our way from up to down then go to the lunchroom, but I wanted to save the best for last, Troy; after all, you'll probably be spending a lot of time here."

"I will?"

"Oh, of course," Sharpay grinned. "This is where the drama club meets after school too. We're going to have our first meeting of the semester today. Look for me," she gave a sly wink. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

She pushed back her sleeve to check the time. Troy quirked an eyebrow when he caught sight of the watch. He wouldn't have dropped money for something that outrageously extravagant in a wristwatch, and he was a pop star. "We have just enough time to pop down to the lunch room and have some of the slop. It's a struggle to find something that actually satisfies the palate in there, but we don't have time to pop over to the fine eatery we usually go to."

"We?" Troy wondered just how many of these students had such delicate palates. Albuquerque sure had changed since the last time he'd been there.

"Ryan, my brother, and myself," Sharpay clarified. "You sat behind him in homeroom today."

"Oh," Troy remembered the boy in the pink hat from earlier that morning. Running his eyes through Sharpay's outfit, a hot pink shirt and pants number with shimmering studs and rubies, he decided it would make sense for them to be related.

As they headed to the staircase to go back down, Troy noticed another one to a corner leading up to a level they hadn't explored yet. "Hey, where does that go?"

Sharpay turned to the direction he was looking at. "Oh, that one takes you to the roof. Hardly anyone goes there. I've only been there once, and I got in trouble for wanting to get a simple tan." She sniffed. "It's a perfectly good waste. I told Daddy to fix it, but the lawyers said the judge would probably throw the case out of court."

Sharpay led him to the cafeteria again holding on to him so forcefully Troy was sure she would leave a ring of bruises around his wrist. "So how has your first day been so far?"

"Oh, it's been alright," Troy shrugged. "I haven't really talked to anyone yet, mostly it's been going to and from classes."

Sharpay pushed open he double doors leading into the lunch hall then and began chortling as though he had said something funny, then slapped him on the arm playfully. Troy turned wide eyes on her before realizing that all conversation had stopped and every pair of eyes in the room was trained on them. Sharpay didn't seem too phased and began walking ahead, forgoing the pile of trays set out for students at the start of the line, instead going straight up to the lady behind the counter and demanding in a confident voice for two vegetable sandwiches. The cashier rang it up just as Troy reached them, rubbing at the back of his neck self-consciously. "Three dollars," she declared in a raspy voice, eyes glancing at him curiously.

Sharpay made no move to reach for her purse, so Troy hastily dug into his pocket to produce some money only to find that his father had forgotten to give him cash. He hadn't had time to withdraw any before his flight, and hadn't thought to once he landed and spent the morning catching up with his parents.

"Er … would you accept Visa?" he tried, pulling out a gold card.

The lunch lady's mouth dropped open. "Don't think I have the equipment for that," she said dumbly.

"Oh," Troy lowered his hand, abashed. "Well, I'd have to withdraw some. I – I don't suppose there's an ATM located anywhere around here…?"

Sharpay placed her hands on her hips and turned to the graying woman. "Can't you put it on a tab? You know we're good for it," she said sharply. The lunch lady hurried to pull out a small notebook and a pen, flipping it open and marking down the order and its prices. Sharpay pulled the sandwiches, guarded with saran wrap, out of her hands and huffily stalked over to a stairwell leading up to the upper level of the lunchroom. Troy followed her, calling back "Thanks!" over his shoulder.

They stopped at a table where only one other person was seated; the boy with the pink hat looked up at their arrival and quietly munched on his own vegetable sandwich while Sharpay plopped down on the seat opposite him. Troy sat next to her.

"Troy, this is my brother, Ryan. Ryan – Troy."

"Hello," Troy nodded politely reaching his hand out for the other boy to shake.

Ryan eyed it warily, then apparently decided it was safe enough to accept the gesture, slipping his own hand against Troy's and giving him a slow, firm handshake.

"So, Troy, you're certainly going to be an interesting addition to this place," Sharpay chattered as she gave him one of the sandwiches and began unwrapping her own. "You'll be giving this place a much needed touch of glamour, no doubt."

Troy blushed. "Well, I just want to fit in," he said. Sharpay and Ryan stared at him as though that was the stupidest thing they'd ever heard. The heat under Troy's skin burned even hotter.

"I can't wait to see the moves you bring to the stage," Sharpay said, helpfully changing the subject. "I've seen you in concert before, you have some moves I think would look great incorporated in the musicals."

"Musicals, huh?"

"Or _musicales_," Ryan interjected. "That's what Miss Darbus likes to call them."

Sharpay gave him an indulgent smile as though Ryan were a little boy to be ignored. "Yes, Miss Darbus has an affinity for the exotic names," she told Troy. "She does tend to spice up the terms, but what artist proud of their field wouldn't? I'm sure you know." She leaned in closer suggestively. Troy blinked.

Ryan seemed to take sympathy on his plight, for he cleared his throat and asked, "So, Troy, how've you found East High so far?"

"It's good," Troy said quickly, grateful for the diversion. He turned his attention to Ryan. "I haven't had much of a chance yet to talk to anybody, but I have seen some people I recognize."

"Anyone you're looking forward to meeting up again?"

"Sure," Troy's face lit up. "I haven't seen Chad in a long time. We used to hang out before I moved away, so I'm really looking forward to seeing him again; and the rest of the guys, Zeke, Jason, David too."

Sharpay and Ryan raised their eyebrows, giving each other significant looks. "Well you'll meet Chad soon enough," Ryan said. "You can't miss him. Even if you don't see him today, you'll always get to see the Golden Boy shine during the games."

"Chad's kind of B.M.O.C.," Sharpay informed. "Since he took over as captain sophomore year; and Zeke and Jason aren't usually far behind."

"Great." Troy nodded enthusiastically, biting into his sandwich and suppressing the urge to gag. Who ordered vegetarian sandwiches? Where was the meat?

"You know, I seem to remember you being quite a basketball stud yourself, Troy," Sharpay said flirtatiously.

"Yeah," Troy chuckled. "Me and Chad were always going at it. We were the ones who dragged all the other guys out on the court back when we were kids. I remember the teachers always yelling at us after recess for stinking up the class."

"Good to know some things never change," Ryan muttered, and he and Sharpay snickered.

"Yes. Such a shame you never got the chance to bring your talents to the court like he did. Who knows how different the structure of the school would be right now if you'd been around. I'm sure you would have made a wonderful captain. But still," her eyes were shining, "you had bigger plans for yourself. Still a minor and already you've set such a high bar, making a name for yourself in Hollywood. If you can handle L.A., there's not a single place you couldn't rule. Except maybe New York. That's where Ryan and I are going next. I _totally_ think I'm a New York girl."

"I've been to New York," Troy nodded. "It's nice."

Sharpay's beamed, evidently happy to have found a New York kind of man like her, failing to notice Ryan discreetly rolling his eyes. Yeah, trying to make it in New York versus visiting it from the highest point of Trump Tower, that was the same thing.

After lunch, the Evans siblings – Troy wasn't very good with faces; he _thought_ they looked similar, but couldn't determine whether or not it was enough to be twins – walked with him to his next class. It wasn't too easy to get lost; Troy simply read the numbers printed on the doors to guide him until he found the one he was looking for. He turned to the two of them. "This is me," he said.

"Okay. We'll see you later," Sharpay chirped. "We're over that way," she jerked a thumb directly behind her.

"All the way on the other side? You didn't have to come with me! I would have been fine without inconveniencing you guys."

"Oh, it's no problem," Sharpay said. "The teacher will understand. We had to direct you after all. Plus they never really say anything to us for silly little things like being late."

"Well, that's good to know," Troy smiled.

He nodded to say goodbye and was about to enter the classroom when suddenly Sharpay's palm shot out and slammed so hard into his chest he thought she might have broken his breastbone. "Toodles."

Clutching at the stinging area, he stared with wide-eyes. "Toodles."

She smiled and jauntily bounced away with her brother slowly following behind. Troy massaged the spot on his chest absent-mindedly watching her go.

Troy found some familiar faces in his next class. There were a couple of guys whose faces stuck out when he remembered the fifth grade – he supposed they must have hung out quite a bit that year, back when his associates started falling away as they did for every teenager until each was left with a core few they could truly count as their friends. He couldn't remember their names now, but it was nice to see someone recognizable. How was it that there were so few people that he remembered? He used to be one of the most popular guys back in elementary school and junior high and would have thought he'd remembered more faces. Surely there couldn't have been too many more new students in the years between East Elementary and East High?

He quickly found a seat in the back, thankful that at least this period he wouldn't have to be surrounded by stares and whispers all around. A few curious eyes strayed to him, but the frequency was far less and much more acceptable.

Still, that didn't mean he didn't draw more than his fair share of attention. The teacher had spent ten minutes of the hour cooing over her brand new student, followed by revered silence for almost three minutes afterwards when nobody did anything in the class except stare at him. Troy hadn't been able to break their gaze until finally thanking her for the introduction to break the monotony.

At last the final bell rang, signaling the students that they were dismissed. Students took their time packing their books to steal glances at him, but this time Troy decided not to wait and was the first one out of the room thanks to the fact that he had no books to put away.

"Troy Bolton!" he heard someone call for the second time that day; but this voice was low where Sharpay's was high, cheerful where hers was domineering, confident where hers was aggressive. Troy. He turned around and found Chad Danforth coming over with a bright grin.

"Chad!" Troy raised his arm in a wave, though he knew Chad could already see him. Their arms outstretched, and laughing they leaned in to give each other a manly hug.

"I've been trying to find you all day," Troy pulled away. "I thought I wouldn't see you until my dad's barbecue this weekend."

"I saw you in homeroom, but you were sitting too far away, and you kind of kept your eyes down too."

"I'll have to give you my number," Troy said.

"Still couldn't talk to you in class dude. Darbus is a _freak_ about phones. Come on, walk with me—" he wrapped an arm around Troy's shoulder and pulled him forward to walk in stride. "I saw you hanging with the Evans twins at lunch."

'So they are twins,' Troy thought. "Yeah, Sharpay was my tour guide today; Darbus gave her the job."

"She would," Chad scoffed.

"Yeah, Sharpay was saying she's kind of a model student here," Troy recalled.

Chad's eyes widened. "Sharpay?" he laughed.

"Yeah. She kind of made herself out to be a big deal around here."

"She is – because she's the resident attention whore. Makes a big deal about anything she can get. She thinks she's a big deal because her parents are millionaires and she has these clones she probably pays to follow her around. She treats people like shit – like, looks down on them. She's an Ice Princess, man. People get scared of her. She treats them like shit if she cares enough. So it's like choosing between a frigid bitch and a mountain lion."

Troy raised his eyebrows. "You don't like her?"

"No, but I'm just telling you how it is man. If you're smart, you'd keep away from the Evans twins."

"They seem to think I'll be joining drama club," Troy informed. Chad burst into laughter, slapping Troy's back. Troy noted that it hurt less than the slap Sharpay had given him earlier.

"You're coming to basketball tomorrow right? It's the tryouts; you probably won't have to, you've got a space already, but we've got a couple more to fill to make up for the guys who left last year."

Troy's eyes flicked to his friend's, then he nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure."

"Cool; so, I know Sharpay was your guide for today, but how about I show you around town and reintroduce you to everybody?" Chad offered with a winning smile.

"Awesome." Troy said enthusiastically. "Oh, but my dad probably thinks I'm coming home with him…" he pulled out his cellphone and typed in a quick message and sent it off. "I told him I'd get a ride off you. You don't mind dropping me back at my place later, do you?"

"Sure, man," Chad said, then let go and walked quickly to the front door. "Come on."

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Chad showed him around, bringing him to various spots where they used to hang out when they were younger that Troy remembered, and to several new places they had discovered in the years after he'd left. He pointed out the park that was always overrun with kids until the evening, the place they had gone to every day after school until the fifth grade. He brought them to the old diner they frequented which was a common watering hole for sixth and seventh graders; Troy remembered the days when he and his friends were just discovering girls and brought them here for a cheap, private meal, or just hanging out with friends; the arcade that had been right next to the comic book store had closed down during their freshman year, Chad informed with some remorse; he brought Troy to the blacktop by the skate park – Troy remembered coming there every once in a while during his last few years; it was a hangout for those just about to enter their teens and above, and before that they had only had the opportunity of playing basketball in their own backyards, but he had left right before the place had become a regular hangout for them.

Chad brought him to the park, more specifically to a spot near the lake, informing him slyly that it was the typical make-out spot for high school students and began reminiscing about how he'd had his first kiss there with a girl in his History class. Troy didn't volunteer information about his first time in a dark corner of a club he'd been permitted into without so much as a glance at ID with some nameless girl whom he wasn't sure was even aware of his status as a celebrity.

Even though he had warned Troy to stay away from them, Chad pointed out the mansion that housed the Evans twins, telling him that the best parties were usually in their lavish home or country club though the twins themselves were hardly invited and hardly made appearances in anyone else's parties – "Which are more fun anyway," Chad said. "The twins get people to come because they go all out, but getting down with your friends in a house party is always where it's at." Troy was taken aback by the size of it. Clearly even his considerable wealth was no match for this family.

Chad even showed him places around town notorious to the residents. He pointed out the warehouses that were frequent targets of drug busts, he pointed out the building a man had committed suicide in, and he even pointed out a beautiful white arch that could easily seat four or five people decorated by beautiful flowers that became so popular that the local buses included as a stop on their routes because people had taken to sitting down at to wait. It was owned by Greta Jones, and had been placed three years earlier. It extended from her front yard and out to the sidewalk in front of it, which encouraged people to use it freely. "Her neighbors hate it because people are always milling around, but she's never had anyone tell her to take it down," Chad explained. "She's kept it up even though she was questionned by the police when a couple of people disappeared, but they never found anything so nobody pressed charges."

The missing persons case didn't seem to be much bother to the townspeople. People generally liked Ms. Jones and considered her arch to be more of a service than anything else. They were considered to be isolated cases involving runaways in the end.

After the tour, Chad dropped Troy home with the promise that they'd hang out tomorrow and celebrate Troy making the team. When he went inside he found his mother was still cooking dinner and his father was catching up on the sports updates. He excused himself to his room until dinner was ready.

His phone started ringing almost the moment he had reached the darkened bedroom, as if the person on the other end had been waiting for him to be alone and could not wait a moment longer. Troy whipped out the slim, chic model and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mister Bolton."

Troy glanced over his shoulder to confirm that neither of his parents were in earshot, then said into the receiver, "Oh, hi."

"I believe we told you we would call at this time?"

"Yeah, you did," he closed the door noiselessly and popped the lock.

"How has your first day back in Albuquerque been?"

"It's been great," Troy replied monotonously. "Just swell."

"Wonderful. Now, Mister Bolton, I think it's time we talked business."


	3. Chapter 3

Troy had a hard time waking up the next morning. A case of jet-lag that he'd had to postpone treating with some sleep until finishing dinner the previous evening had caused him to fall asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, and he'd only been roused from his dreams when his father had sprinkled water over his face. "Sorry, I was getting desperate," Jack explained when Troy had glared at him tiredly.

Fortunately, the schedule he kept over the past few years, traveling all over the world and waking up at odd hours , helped him keep his eyes awake, and it took him only one cup of coffee from the school cafeteria – it was the worst crap he'd ever tasted – to replenish his energy levels. His basketball tryouts hadn't even been too bad. He sucked compared to the others on the team of course, but his years of dance training had helped him keep up where most other boys hoping to make the team had failed. All in all, it was good enough for his father to use as an excuse to justify placing his son on the team above everybody else.

Troy declined Chad's invitation to go get some greasy fast food with the guys, and turned down his father's invitation to ride back home with him in favor to take a walk around the neighborhood. Jack looked disappointed but agreed that it would be a good idea for him to get reacquainted with all the spots, apparently having forgotten that he and Chad had spent the previous afternoon by doing just that.

It was only because Troy had wanted time alone to think by himself. He had no privacy at home; his mother was still checking up on him every ten minutes to see if he would like something to eat – Troy believed it was because she was so relieved to have time with him in the house. No matter what she said, he knew she got tired of life on the road and having to go with him to so many industry parties and making sure he reached all of his appointments on time, and having their house in LA constantly invaded by agents, managers, and various other representatives who would subsequently cling on to their side all day – and Troy's father seemed to be just as eager not to leave him alone either. He had brought up playing basketball on the mini-court he'd built in the front three times yesterday, all of which Troy had declined citing tiredness. In truth, he was a little reluctant to play basketball; it had been a childhood dream to grow up and join the NBA, but it had been one that disappeared over time once he had devoted himself to his career as a singer. After all, it wasn't like he had a reason to keep dreaming when he was living _the_ dream; and his career kept him so busy that he had literally not touched a basketball in almost three years now. Whatever skills he had developed during his years before a teen heartthrob was sure to have faded by now.

Disappointing his father was not something Troy had done very much of; he had achieved a life hardly anybody could ever have even hoped for, and, as the stream of interviewers, industry insiders, executives, and fans and critics said, _so very young_. Yet he knew that his refusal to try was also causing his father disappointment. But it seemed so much easier this way.

Troy had always been a hard worker. When he had achieved stardom, almost right off the bat, everyone had expected him to be a one-hit wonder kid. He was too young, they'd thought, to last for very long in Hollywood. If he was lucky, they would forget him quickly and give him another shot when he was older, instead of encasing him in a glass cabinet labeled Child Star. So he had done everything he could to make it work. Instead of slinking away quietly, he'd pressed on, and had made the jump into another field as well, as a singer. As he grew older, he fought to stay relevant and cause his star to shine brighter, until he reached the point where even the tabloids started taking notice of him. That felt real good, the knowledge that people cared enough to actually read about him daily, and time and attention on him even once every day instead of only when watching one of his movies or listening to one of his albums. He was New Hollywood crowd, and that was a big thing to be these days, right alongside teen idol – and he had that in the bag. He hadn't even done anything truly outrageous yet, so that made the thought of all those people out there reading about him every day all the more sweet.

That was why he was so torn up about this entire situation. Going home right now was _not_ the best idea. He was seventeen, his time remaining as a teen idol was numbered, and it was time to take as many last nibbles out of that apple as possible, because who knew what was going to happen after he was forced to make the transition into a more credible celebrity?

And that's why he had to do this, he knew. He'd made the compromise to come back to Albuquerque right at the stage when his career was about to reach critical level. These were the years that could make or break him; he couldn't afford to go under the radar now.

He heard the sounds of a guitar being strummed heavily and a drum beat playing. The house ahead had band playing the garage.

"Sharpay?" his eyes widened when he caught sight of the blonde girl singing into a microphone and bopping her head to the beat. The music stopped and all eyes turned on him. The guitarist, the drummer, and the bassist were all guys, Troy noted, with stringy hair and plain clothes, while Sharpay was the only girl and, with her pink glittery, somewhat outlandish outfit, made the rest of the band look downright grungy.

"Oh, hey Troy," she bubbled.

"I didn't know you played in a band," Troy certainly didn't expect to see her surrounded by a group of guys making music that sounded quite a bit harder than the breezy bubblegum pop he would have thought she listened to.

"Oh, yeah," she said nonchalantly. "Been playing with these guys for two years – right guys?" Murmurs of assent were punctuated by the three boys knocking fists with her.

"Would you like to hear something?" Sharpay offered. Troy shrugged 'sure' and they proceeded to launch into the opening notes of _Violet_. He had to say, Sharpay Evans in a sequined jacket and pants headbanging while howling into a microphone, _"Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to…"_ was quite a sight.

When the group finished, rather abruptly, Sharpay raised her eyes to him expectantly. Troy nodded, not at all sure what he thought about it. "It's good," he said. "…Maybe add a bar at the end instead of ending just like _that_, but—" he stopped when Sharpay turned her head to bare her jaws at her groupmates like a ferocious dog. The boys looked more apprehensive than he would have imagined. Troy cleared his throat. "It's good," he repeated, then quickly, "Well, I'd better go. Goodbye—" and quickly kept moving on.

When he reached back home, his mother was making dinner. There was already a tray of cookies laid out at the counter. "Oh, sweetie," Mrs. Bolton said when he came in, "you should have told me you were coming home late. I made you an after-school snack."

"Sorry, mom," Troy said awkwardly. He had kept his phone off because he didn't want anyone calling him and interrupting his time alone. He already spent enough time on that thing while working, and that was the one part of not being in L.A. that he didn't miss.

Mrs. Bolton smiled. "Well, they're not hot out of the oven, but you can have some after dinner. I so rarely get a chance to cook these days, I've been doing it nonstop since I got back."

"Great," Troy smiled. "I'm going to go take a shower before dinner."

"Okay, sweetheart," his mom called, turning her attention back to the bubbling pan.

Troy hadn't had his own bathroom when he was growing up in this house, but after he had launched his career and the money started rolling in, his parents had made a few renovations to the previously modest sized house. Troy didn't mind; he knew his parents had been hard-pressed for money, having to live on his father's meager paychecks as a schoolteacher and his mother's salary as a small-time businesswoman. Though he had never voiced it out loud, he knew their financial situation had been a reason as to why his parents had allowed him to pursue his own career at such a young age. They had never gone hungry or anything like that, but if Troy had potential, what reason was there to wait?

Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the personal bathroom his parents had added when they had begun renovations and turned on the hot water. A small smile crept on his face when he stuck his hand out to test the temperature. It felt good to know that thanks to him his family never had to worry about things like the hot water running out if someone took too long a shower anymore. It felt good to know that he was pulling his weight.

Usually his evening showers were a hurried affair. He considered his morning shower to be the more important one and therefore took a bit more time then, unless of course he was due to make an appearance at some social function (which he frequently did back in Los Angeles), but he still felt the grime and sweat from his earlier basketball tryouts, so took this chance to indulge. After he was done, he stepped out without bothering to wrap a towel around himself and felt the slight chill one usually did right after exiting a steamy bathroom.

He snatched his phone up from the desk without breaking his stride and made to find some comfortable clothes. After throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, he glanced down and noticed he had missed a call. Quickly he glanced at his closed door, as if trying to predict whether anyone was coming up to knock on it, and pressed his speed-dial.

"Ah, Mister Bolton."

"Hi," Troy said awkwardly. "I'm returning a call I missed."

"Yes, are you ready to go over a few details?"

"Well…" he cast another glance towards the door then nodded uncertainly. "Sure, I guess."

"Excellent," the deep voice on the other end of the line said. "Now, this is what we've got planned..."

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Dinner was somewhat of an animated affair. Troy was more exhausted than he had been last night. Troy was still exhausted, especially after having just survived through an hour and a half of basketball practice – though he hadn't had to actually play very long considering there were several boys who had come in to try out too – so he hadn't spoken much, but his parents kept up the flow. Jack was recounting the tryouts to his wife who appeared to be nodding too quickly with eyes too wide, it appeared to Troy, who knew all too well how to feign interest.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Chad entered, beaming at them. "Hey, Boltons."

Troy frowned. "Chad? What are you doing here?"

"Chad always comes over," Jack said, looking as Troy as though he should have known that.

"I was just in the 'hood," Chad swaggered over to a spare seat, pulling up a plate. Troy stared. Since when did Chad think it was alright to just saunter into a person's home and eat without having been invited for dinner?

Jack and Lucille didn't bat an eye.

"Uh, won't your parents wonder where you are?" Troy asked, concerned.

Troy's mom quirked an eyebrow. "I'm sure they know, Troy – Chad's been coming here often enough."

Chad stayed for dinner often enough when he and Troy had been friends. Troy didn't think he still did so after Troy had left. Jack resumed telling his wife about the tryouts, and Chad jumped in with his own commentary and eagerly the two spoke over each other's words, each vying for Lucille's attention.

When finally the topic had been run dry, Jack turned to Chad. "You're coming early Saturday to help get everything ready right?"

"Oh yeah," Chad nodded. "What time do you want me by?"

"Four should be good," Jack decided.

"What are you talking about?" Troy questioned curiously.

"The barbecue, son!" Jack grinned. "We're gonna do it up right!"

"Jase is in charge of music," Chad informed him. "Zeke will be coming around six to set up."

"Set up?"

"The grill," Jack clarified.

Troy turned from Chad to his father to Chad again. "Zeke sets up grills?"

"Zeke _does_ grill," Chad raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't know Zeke grilled."

"Sure," Jack laughed. "Chad here was the one to find out. Tell him the story, Chad."

Chad chuckled too, shaking his head. "Dude, you won't believe it. So I'm just getting done with detention, right, and I'm passing by the cafeteria when I decide I want to grab something to eat, and the place is cleaned out, so I sneak into the kitchen—" Troy straightened with interest, "—and guess what I find? Zeke with the lunch lady, and she's giving him pointers on how to _bake_!"

Jack tosses his head back then and lets out a loud guffaw. Troy gazed at them dumbfounded. Even his mom had a small smile pulling at her lips.

"So I'm like, 'Dude, that's a little…'" Chad raised his arm, wriggling his wrist lamely, "and I tell Coach here what I find, right—"

"So I tell him that if he wants to cook, I can help him out, and I bring him to the little beaut I got out back," Jack finished on a proud note. "He's been grilling for us ever since."

Troy nodded slowly. He didn't really see what about that story had sent his father and Chad into such hysterics, but he didn't push it. "So how many people are coming over on Saturday?"

"Oh, just a few people," Jack shrugged. "The guys on the team, some of the faculty, your friends from school..."

"I haven't got any friends from school," Troy reminded, shooting Chad an apologetic look to let him know he wasn't included in the statement. "I've only been back for two days."

"Sure you've got friends, honey," his mother breezed. "We've had people asking about you non-stop."

"The mayor might be making an appearance too," Jack added.

Troy groaned, leaning back in his seat. "Dad, I told you: no mayor!"

"Oh, come on, kiddo, he loves coming here," Jack persisted.

"He loves coming here?" Troy echoed. "I've never met the mayor of Albuquerque in my life."

"I have," Chad's eyes gleamed. "The last time he came over, he brought this gift basket – man, it was huge!"

Jack looked suddenly ashamed. "Uh, yeah," he said, "we meant to give that to you, son, but you know once Chad's got his eye on something, we couldn't peel it away from his fingers with a crowbar."

"There were so many cameras," Chad reminisced. "I'm just glad the flashes didn't make me look drunk in the pictures on the paper the next day."

Troy smiled politely. He highly doubted the amount of photographers available that day was nothing compared to the mobs he'd seen on his own promotional events. Jack took his smile as a sign that he was no longer uncomfortable with the thought of meeting the mayor, so he and Lucille and Chad began to converse among each other about what they had planned for the big day. Troy simply took this as an opportunity to close his tired eyes for a bit.

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**Author's Note:** Thanks, everyone, for your reviews. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed reading them.

The song Sharpay sings, _Violet_, is by Courtney Love's group, Hole.

While we're on the subject, I meant to say this on the first chapter itself, but somehow kept forgetting until now: The title of the story is actually taken from a lyric found in this song called _Why Should I Be Sad?_ by Britney Spears, _"I sent you to Vegas with a pocket full of paper and put no ultimatums on you"_; just a little bit of information on it, because I know some of the titles I tend to choose sound completely random but it all makes sense to me. This story is nothing like the track the title is taken from, because, really, who would be able to relate to that song aside from Britney herself? I just thought it was a snazzy title, and I hope that its meaning makes itself apparent as I develop the story more.


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